


I'd Lie

by EllieCee



Category: Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: F/M, This is an AU, a non-famous au? lol because i have no other ways to describe it, because i was looking at zigi and listening to t swift so, this is gross cheesy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 09:44:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11643945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllieCee/pseuds/EllieCee
Summary: Gigi Hadid is most certainly not in love with her best friend Zayn. No matter how many times Griff insists she is.(But she totally is).--An AU, I don't know how to specify this AU, it's just one because they're not famous.





	I'd Lie

**Author's Note:**

> Things I am trash for:
> 
> 1\. Zigi  
> 2\. Taylor Swift songs  
> 3\. Corny friends to lovers type thing
> 
> So this was born. Please enjoy. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Not sure if this is a one-shot or if I'll continue. It took me months to post this lol.

Gigi wakes up realizing that she’d slept through  _ two  _ alarms, meaning she only had approximately 6.5 minutes to shove cereal down her throat until she had to leave. Or until Zayn honks the annoyingly loud horn of his used car and calls out “Gi! Carpool’s here!”

 

She scrubs her teeth, a little too hard, evident in the hint of red in the sink. She rinses it out with ice cold water and checks to make sure she has deodorant on. She silently praises herself when she finds her Target uniform hanging neatly on her closet door (cause, good, she  _ did  _ remember to put it out last night). She slips into the stiff fabric and shoves her Keds on, swiping her blinking phone from the edge of her bed.

 

7 messages. Four from Taylor and three from Griff. According to the time (and her very well thought out schedule), the fact that she’d set out her uniform last night saved her at least 1.3 extra minutes for breakfast. Which means she  _ should  _ be able to finish a whole bowl if Anwar remembered to leave the cereal where it’s supposed to be.

 

Of course he didn’t.

 

It takes Gigi a good minute and a half to see that Anwar had absent-mindedly left the frosted flakes in the canned goods shelf. She huffs, fixes herself a bowl, and sits herself next to Anwar. His half-eaten bowl of cereal sits too close to his elbow and the edge of the table. He’s fiddling with sewing scissors and what Gigi hopes is an  _ old  _ oversized denim jacket, because if it’s Bella’s new one, Anwar would meet his maker.

 

Gigi spoons an unnecessarily large amount of cereal into her mouth (hey, she needs to make time) and looks curiously at the haphazard cuts Anwar’s made into the jacket. 

 

“What’s that supposed to be?” she dares asks. 

 

“Cut-outs are in,” Anwar replies, eyes focused and brows furrowed. Gigi doesn’t have the heart to tell him it looks like the late Chub had mistaken it for a scratching post. 

 

“Mhm,” Gigi feigns interest. She checks the time again and remembers her missed texts. She’ll answer later, she tells herself, or at least until Taylor starts bothering her. 

 

She’s only halfway through her bowl, when she hears the familiar honk, and two things go through her mind: 1. Wow, Zayn’s early 2. It’s terribly annoying how the thought of Zayn makes her stomach feel like regurgitating frosted flakes. 

 

“There’s your boyfriend,” Anwar teases. Gigi puts on a bothered face to hide the blush on her cheeks. 

 

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s my best friend,” she argues, turning around quickly so Anwar doesn’t catch her pink face. 

 

“You want him to be your boyfriend though,” Anwar chuckles, eyes still locked on his cat-scratched denim jacket. 

 

“Be quiet,” she huffs, digging for her jacket in the coat closet. Bella’s oversized denim jacket is interestingly missing, which means she should expect to return home to Anwar’s funeral. 

 

“He likes you. He drives you to work every morning,” Anwar states. Gigi narrows her eyes at him.

 

“Gi! I’m here!”

 

She feels her blush returning at the sound of his voice. 

 

_ Get it together, woman, you’re 21 years old,  _ she tells herself. 

 

“It’s called a carpool Anwar. My work is on his way.”

 

Anwar chuckles. Gigi whacks him with her bag and swiftly misses his payback swipe. She sticks her tongue out at him and rushes to the door.

 

“Gi!”

 

“I’m coming!” she calls back. She wonders why Zayn doesn’t just text her like a normal person, but she quickly realizes that he’s  _ Zayn,  _ and he’s probably too lazy to pull the phone out of his pocket. She smiles at her thought as she pushes the door open and spots Zayn’s bucket of bolts parked outside their driveway.

 

“There you are!” Zayn exclaims. Her heart pounds at the sight of his crinkly eyes. She shakes it off and lets herself in the passenger’s seat. The entire car smells like cigarettes and cologne. Signature Zayn.

 

“You can’t text?” she teases him, setting her back at her feet, “You’ll wake up Mrs. Stouffer.”

 

“Gi, I don’t think she can still hear,” he replies, a smile tugging at the end of his lips, “Anyway, didn’t feel like reachin’ for it inside my pocket.”

 

She’s right. She smiles to herself and clicks her seatbelt on.

 

Zayn pulls out of their driveway, and for a good fifteen minutes, it’s nothing but the hum of the engine and the morning radio. Gigi crinkles her nose at the advertisement for the new energy drink. All she’d been doing at work was stacking them. 

 

Zayn yawns and takes a large gulp of his steaming hot coffee from the cup holder. A drop nearly stains his Game Stop uniform, but Gigi figures you wouldn’t be able to see it on a dark polo. 

 

“How was last night?” she asks, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

 

He lets out a small chuckle.

 

“Griff really needs to stop letting Jason drag us to house parties.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Gigi quips sarcastically, “Sounds like a drag.”

 

“Hey! You know I’d rather be asleep,” Zayn replies.

 

“That’s true,” Gigi giggles, watching the way his eyes focused on the rear view mirror. 

 

“Griff promised we’d only be there for an hour because of that one girl, I forget her name,” Zayn tells, “Jen? Tatiana?”

 

“Those names aren’t even remotely close to each other,” Gigi points out. Zayn shrugs and laughs. His voice is still gravelly, which tells her that he’d probably rolled out of bed four minutes before he got in the car to pick her up.

 

“One of them,” he continues, “Then he disappears and I’m stuck by the cheese balls. Couldn’t even go out for a smoke, I forgot my lighter.”

 

Now she’s counting the hues in his eyes. They’re brown, tinged with the slightest hint of green. There’s gold flecks somewhere there. They shine when Zayn turns the car into a sunny road. 

 

“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing, Z,” she says, biting her lip, hoping the direction of their conversation wouldn’t irritate him.

 

“If it makes you feel better,” he says, still in good spirits, “I’ve only been smoking three cigarettes per week now.”

 

“That’s good,” Gigi replies, watching him take another gulp of coffee during a red light, “How do you drink so much coffee like that? Coffee makes me poop.”

 

Zayn laughs. 

 

“Sucks for you, doesn’t it?” he chirps. Gigi playfully elbows him and he sticks her tongue out at her. She feels her face redden at the slight touch of his skin. 

 

“At least I won’t crash from the caffeine,” she argues. 

 

“Oh yeah?” he says, “It’s not crashing, it’s an impromptu nap in the bathroom for five minutes!”

 

She playfully elbows him again.

 

“That’s crashing!”

 

“That’s crashing,” he mocks, eye scrunched up again, the sunlight reflecting off the gold flecks in his eyes. 

 

Gigi knows for a fact that it takes approximately four shades of brown, two yellows and two greens to paint Zayn’s eyes. She won’t ever tell anyone how she knows.

  
  
  


* * *

 

 

God knows why three hours of stacking products kills her knees more than a full day of boxing, but it does. Gigi leans against a shelf of discounted Nintendo games as she watches Griff sort through old Xbox games. 

 

“Wow, the first Doomsday Camp for $15,” he says, pulling out a worn out box from the bottom of the pile.

 

Gigi’s knees ache like hell. She glances at the counter, hoping to see Zayn with his coat on and ready to go, but is met with the manager Joe’s beady eyes. She shivers and quickly looks away.

 

“Anwar has that and he doesn’t use it,” Gigi tells Griff, “Trade him your old clothes for it.”

 

“Old clothes? Why?” Griff asks, amused.

 

Gigi feels relief when she sees Joe leave from the corner of her eye.

 

“So he stops using Bella’s clothes to learn how to sew,” she replies, “I’m tired of coming home to World War III.”

 

“To be fair,” Griff starts, “Bella has a terrible habit of buying a piece of clothing several times.”

 

“That doesn’t stop World War III,” she says. 

 

Griff laughs.

 

“I think at this point, Anwar’s just doing it to piss her off.”

 

Gigi nods and chuckles. 

 

“I think it’s his long-winded payback for her last April Fool’s prank.”

 

Griff shakes his head.

 

“All right, I got some old shirts. Will he really give me the first Doomsday Camp?”

 

“Yes,” Gigi answers, “Thank you.”

 

Griff mouths a “Yesss” and continues digging through the pile. Gigi arches her neck again to see if Zayn had walked out yet, to no avail.

 

“Looking for your boo?” Griff jokes. 

 

“Shush,” Gigi hisses.

 

“He won’t hear me G,” Griff cackles, “He’s either in the back doing inventory, and if he’s out here, his spacey ass wouldn’t notice.”

 

Gigi hides her blushed face behind her palm.

 

“Aww,” Griff coos. 

 

Gigi smirks at him and picks at her fingers. 

 

“Tell him,” Griff insists.

 

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea,” Gigi scoffs, fingers squeezing the strap of her bag.

 

“I’m pretty sure he loves you back.”

 

“Loves?” Gigi exclaims, feeling her heart jump two stories high. Griff’s eyes widen in amusement.

 

“Aww, you looooove him,” he sing-songs, poking her arm. 

 

“Stooop,” Gigi squeals, burying her face against the cold metal shelf beside her. She thinks to herself that maybe it’d cool her face off.

 

“G, the whole world knows you’re in love with Z. It’s so obvious. My grandma from Atlanta knows you love Z,” Griff states.

 

“Does he know?” she asks.

 

“Z?” Griff replies, “No, that boy’s more oblivious than a deer when it comes to this shit. But I’m pretty damn sure he loves you too.”

 

The cold metal shelf isn’t helping at all to cool Gigi’s face down.

 

“What makes you think that?”

 

Griff scans around the store for a moment before walking closer to her.

 

“You know the party we went to?” he says in a slightly hushed tone.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“She was there,” Griff continues.

 

Gigi feels her stomach squirm. She knows who he means.

 

“And?”

 

“Aaand,” Griff says, “Z didn’t pay any mind to her, not at all.”

 

Gigi recounts her conversation with Zayn that morning, scrolling through his words to remember if there had been any mention at all.

 

“He didn’t say anything about her this morning,” she reveals. 

 

“Exactly,” Griff points out, “Because it wasn’t important to him that she was there.”

 

Gigi prepares her counterarguments in her head, but before she could dish them out, they hear the supply room door open. Gigi spots that tuft of dark hair she knows so well. 

 

Zayn waves to them, one backpack strap slung over his shoulder.

 

Gigi feels her heart flutter and sees Griff snicker from the corner of her eye.

 

_Jesus mother christ._

 

She doesn't deserve this.


End file.
